Wait For Me
by Goddess369
Summary: The students of the barricade were not the only ones undergoing a revolution that night. For more than twenty years Javert's heart had been at constant war with his mind; how long would it be before one finally admitted defeat? Javert/Valjean, slash
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: I recently fell in love with the couple of J/JVJ, and so this is my first attempt at writing for that pair. Before you read, please note that my characters will probably seem out of character (ooc) because, as of yet, I have only seen the musical adaptation of this story. Normally, I like to go to the source (this would mean reading the book) in order to make my characters as 'realistic' as possible (as realistic as they can be when I'm changing their very sexual orientation...). I just bought the book and am only about 220 pages into it (out of about 1463). Of course, I absolutely adore the book, and once I finish it I will most likely write more for this pair because then I will fully be able to understand the characters, where they're coming from, why they might do what they do, etc. **

**However, for now I am writing this based purely on my perception of Javert/Valjean as they are presented in the musical (and because the book is so long, the musical naturally has parts cut and edited in order to make the plot flow; this means that there was much left to the imagination as to why/how things happened, and also for characterization because obviously they could not give every major/minor character their own song of introduction as it does for the book). And just so you know, I'm very romantic. With all of this said, I hope you will enjoy my fic despite everything. I also hope that you will take the time to review, do you like it? No? Why or why not? I love it when my work is critiqued, so please don't hold anything back for my sake!**

**Warnings: None, really**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables or any form (the musical, movies) that it has been presented in thus far. **

**'Wait For Me'**

Javert listened, infuriated, as those sinful rebels walked away from where he now sat under a tree, back to their pitiful barricade. They had placed him fairly far away from the barricade so that he could not over hear their discussions. Not that it would really matter what he heard, anyway. He would not go back to the National Guard; his pride would not allow it after being discovered by the very people he was sent to spy on. As he watched, Javert burnt imaginary holes into the back of their heads and hoped for the worst fates to befall them all.

When they were, at last, out of sight, Javert let out a low growl of irritation as he scowled down at the ropes binding his hands and ankles. It was impossible to be remotely comfortable with his hands behind his back, but he tried leaning against the thick tree trunk anyway. It was better than attempting to lie on the hard, barren ground.

Minutes passed. The night grew steadily colder, and soon there was nothing but the silent stars to occupy any person's attention. Javert envied, as always, their unwavering stoicism. He had certainly never known another person, other than himself, to hold their own in the face of animosity as intently as stars seemed to do.

No, that was not true. There was one other…but Javert would not think of him. Not tonight, when he had enough to worry about. If the rebels were ever given enough time to deal with him, then Javert would most likely die by their hand. He already knew the outcome of this uprising – those boys had no real experience in an army, they only knew that they sought a better life than the French government was allowing them. There were probably young men who did not even fight for that much, just for the thrill of wielding a real gun or to be able to support a good friend that had urged them to join as well.

It was almost a shame. Despite their best intentions, their innocent army would fall sooner or later. And if there was any chance of victory for the rebels, Javert might have been able to hope that they would be too joyous in their celebration to punish him. Instead, he would simply have to wait and hope that they forgot about him, or would kill him quickly. His situation had gone from risky to hopeless in such a short amount of time…

Javert sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the trunk. He would not cry. He would keep everything together and figure out a way to escape. He had not cried in years, decades even, and would certainly not taint that slate now by giving up.

It was just so _unfair_. Javert had only ever done his duty, always with the utmost sense of pride and efficiency. Punish the wicked, and never partake in their ways. It was all the Lord had ever asked of him, and Javert had thrown his entire being into accomplishing this for years. And now where was God? Why did the stars no longer light his way as they once did? What crime had Javert, himself, committed that would lead him to this awful position?

A sudden, far off rustling made Javert open his eyes, momentarily distracting him from his melancholy thoughts. Someone had managed to sneak to the rebel barricade as he had done. However, he could not see their face, and the hour was so late that this feature would be the only one he could possibly recognize in the darkness.

And then, miraculously, the stranger did turn their head toward his direction. Javert felt his heart stop as a pair of curious eyes rested on his. They quickly became flooded with shock when recognition swept over the person. As their eyes strained to see one another clearly in the dark, Javert felt his worry slip away, replaced with a sense of awe. He was no longer Javert, one of the most notorious inspectors in all of France, strict upholder of the law. He was just a man, and the stars meant nothing to him because the only set of lights that he needed to follow could be found in those eyes. And just as suddenly as they were there, they turned away.

With a new resolution, Jean Valjean began climbing the barricade and disappeared from Javert's sight.

His eyes looked for a few moments more, refusing to believe that they had been deserted by what they sought most. A cold gust of wind blazed through, reminding Javert to breathe again. His breath came deeply and deliberately. And as he was given the chance to actually think again, Javert felt his pride and worry no more. They were now overshadowed by steadily rising embarrassment and irritation.

What business did _Valjean_ have with the rebels? Javert searched every corner of his memory. He supposedly looked after an orphan girl. Did she not need tending to? She must be a young lady by now, had she married? Surely he had no friends among the students - he was old enough to be their father. Perhaps one of them had witnessed some of Valjean's strength and had persuaded him to join their cause…if he no longer had a child to care for, Javert supposed that it was not too difficult of a task to convince Valjean to fight against the very government system that had imprisoned him for so long. For nineteen years Javert had watched him daily, studied his physical and emotional strength that was only rivaled by his own. It was a resilience that they shared. It was one of the only things that they shared.

And now, after so many years, the tables were turned on him. He was imprisoned while Valjean walked about, a free man. An enraged cry tore through Javert as he struggled uselessly at his bindings. If God was being unfair before, He was simply taunting him now. _He_ knew that this was the reason for Javert becoming a spy. This had been his last hope for a return to his once-normal life, to finally forget about the man that haunted his dreams at night and his thoughts in the day, about the admirably defiant face and the name that had always rolled so naturally off of his tongue. Jean Valjean.

It was several minutes until Javert stopped his futile attempt at escaping and slumped breathlessly against the tree once again. He wished that he could fall asleep, or maybe get struck by lightning. Anything that kept him from thinking about Jean – 24601 – would do. But he knew that it was as senseless to fight his thoughts as it was to fight the rope. And he had been doing so well. Of course, he had been rather preoccupied, but it was still better than reliving the past yet again.

He would have come back to it, though. His mind could never stray too far from Valjean. When he was first arrested all those years ago, Javert had seen him as just another criminal. No, that was not right either. Valjean had intrigued him from the beginning. When he had read the reason for the arrest, Javert had almost found it silly. And as time progressed and the sentence was lengthened with repeated escape attempts, Javert could only shake his head in annoyance. Valjean's sentence would have been five short years if only he had not tried to run, but running was what everyone did. No one ever thought to cooperate, admit to their wrong doing, and do their time without complaint.

Still, during the majority of time that went without incident, Javert was impressed with Valjean's even temper and silent perseverance with every day that he was put to work with all the others. He never caused trouble, never instigated confrontation. He simply did what he was told, and yet Valjean was never like anyone else. He was not another sheep in the herd.

A short time passed, and Javert abruptly found himself becoming engrossed with this man in a way that he had never felt before. At least, if he had, then it had been a long while. But Javert was not stupid; he recognized this feeling of attraction easily (if only by process of elimination). It frightened him. He did not feel himself whenever he had to look after Valjean's group or even Valjean personally, and did his best to avoid speaking to him directly. The less he had anything to do with Valjean, the sooner Javert could clear his head of this insistent…distraction.

But despite his best attempts at remaining emotionally detached from the prisoner, Javert realized - not without worry – that the attraction continued to grow as time carried on rather than lessen. He found himself unintentionally observing Valjean more carefully and for longer periods of time than he would the others. And what was more, he felt that Valjean _knew_, and yet never said a word. Sometimes they would unexpectedly meet one another's gaze; Javert would simply glare and Valjean resume his work.

Of course, the other idiots that surrounded himself and Valjean (Javert had unconsciously begun separating him from the other prisoners in his head) seemed determined to make his life as uncomfortable as possible. It was obvious that the other prisoners were jealous of Valjean's lack of reprimand from the guards, and there were a few times when they would bring Valjean to Javert's attention. It was always a ridiculous accusation and made Javert want to instead tell off everyone involved in the false testimonies. This was partly because he despised having to be more near Valjean than necessary, but mostly because these peons were simply wasting his time. If they desired less attention, then they could have followed Valjean's lead rather than drag him to their low level.

However, he forced himself to view their case with objectivity, or at least ask himself what the old Javert would have done. Even when Valjean would meet his gaze and Javert could almost swear that they shared a wordless conversation every time.

_Look at these fools. You know I am innocent. _

_I know that. So defend yourself. _

_You and I know the truth. It is enough. _

_I cannot appease the quiet truth, only the evidence. _You_ know that. _

_Yes, very well, I am afraid. Do what you must. _

So Javert did, though he never understood why Valjean would never take his advice (from their imaginary conversation, no less). He would have found a way to take his side against the crowd and avoid the inevitable blows that he had to force upon Valjean's back. He knew that he would leave scars. Valjean had never cried; the closest he had ever been to doing so was the first time when his eyes reddened only slightly, seeming to glisten more with anger than pain.

When it was over, Javert often thought he saw disappointment in Valjean's next look as he walked back to begin his labor again. He always wanted to scream at him, to tell him that it was _not_ fair to blame him when Valjean did nothing himself to remove the charge against him. This was swiftly overpowered by a wild desire to comfort Valjean and promise to never, ever again cause him any pain. He would beat every man that had dared to laugh or cheer as he had hit Valjean, and they would run away from that damn place, from all idiocy, just the two of them forever.

So many emotions always surrounded Javert when Valjean was involved, so much uncertainty. Of course, he never acted on any of his yearnings, and upon returning home after that first time Javert, too, felt his eyes sting, and he realized that he was actually about to cry. For a convict. For _Jean Valjean_. It was so absurd that he began laughing instead (meanwhile the back of his mind noted that this man would sooner or later drive him insane). If the great Valjean could be so strong, then so could he.

Unfortunately, 'being strong' did nothing to take away the guilt he felt at punishing an innocent man (although he knew that it was more than just that). He could not comprehend why he felt this way about only Valjean. No other person, let alone another prisoner, had ever affected him so. He prayed that his perplexing emotions were enough retribution from God. And every day after one of these incidents had occurred, Valjean would catch his eye at one time or another, and Javert would hope that he did not imagine seeing forgiveness in that gaze.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, everyone. Another part to my short fic is here. So after reading a few of the fics here and else where, I fully realized just how OOC my Javert is, heh. But I decided not to change my story to fix him because then it wouldn't be the same story (and basically I would have to revise a ton of it...and I'm too lazy). So I'm just warning you for part 2 because the characters don't become any more in character at all. I'm really just fulfilling my own romantic cravings. Enjoy!

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"This is a bit ironic, is it not?"

Startled, Javert looked up to see Valjean walking right to him. He had not even noticed. He wanted to apologize for the scars that he had inflicted over the years. He wanted to ask Valjean to join him in stargazing.

"What are you doing here?" It came out more unkindly than he had intended. He could not help it; he always reverted back into Javert the inspector when he and Valjean were close.

Incredibly, Valjean smiled, even laughed some as he came to a stop before Javert. Javert constantly wondered how one man could make him feel like a different person, a new and better person, even if he was not allowed to express such a change. The answer was kept in Valjean's smile, the secret to heaven found in his laughter, two things that Javert had only experienced a handful of times. He was sure that the orphaned girl had experienced it a multitude of times and was suddenly more jealous of her than he had ever been of anyone before in his life.

"I joined the rebels, and they have allowed me the privilege of being your keeper."

Javert did his best to smile, but was sure

that it did not come out as such. He knew when he was defeated. "The National Guard would have been the smarter move."

"It probably would have been smarter," Valjean agreed, nodding. There remained a hint of a smile on his face.

"Listen, Valjean," Javert began, pleased with the look of surprise given at the use of his actual name, "I know why you are here, and I would appreciate it if you would not drag this out. Take your revenge and be done with it." If he was to die at the hands of anyone, Javert was glad that it was Valjean. He deserved it most.

If anything, Valjean's surprise only grew. "You think that I am here to…?" He did not finish, only staring disbelievingly.

"Do not patronize me, Valjean. I see the outline of the knife in your coat pocket, now put it to the use that you intended it for!" He could not stand to be toyed with any longer. Valjean really should be fair and realize what a torture it was anticipate one's own death.

Frowning, Valjean pulled out the knife, watching for a moment as it glistened in the moonlight. "You are exactly right. I should do what I planned and make you wait no longer."

"Thank you." Javert closed his eyes, waiting for a piercing pain to come to any part of his body. He waited, feeling nothing, and thought that maybe Valjean was simply enjoying seeing him squirm.

But he heard the most peculiar sound coming from right in front of him. Barely opening his eyes, he first saw Valjean kneeling above his legs. Then his feet were free in the next instant, and when Valjean looked up, he smiled again, softly.

"What are you doing?" The harsh tone was gone from Javert's voice. He rolled his ankles, watching incredulously as Valjean came even closer to him. He unconsciously leaned forward to give Valjean room to work with, and within seconds he was completely free.

Sitting close, Valjean took Javert's wrists in his hands and began massaging them.

"I did what I intended to," He said quietly, not looking up to meet Javert's gaze.

Javert could only look at this incredible man. This incredible, bewildering man. Javert used to beat him and walk away afterwards, regretting it but never doing anything about it. And here comes along Jean Valjean, stumbling across Javert for the first time in years and relieving him of his pain at the first available opportunity.

"Thank you." They were the two most sincere words Javert had ever said.

"You are welcome," Valjean answered just as sincerely.

"But why?"

At last Valjean looked at him. "Because even you deserve a second chance." Then he scoot back so that he was against the tree trunk as well. Javert tried to keep from moving when their arms kept loose contact.

He was not totally satisfied with the answer, but did not want to do or say anything to push his luck. Valjean was doing what he thought of earlier without even being asked: stargazing. So he did too, even though he felt that the best stargazing was done while looking into Valjean's eyes (sometimes he could slap himself for these thoughts).

Javert had never imagined that Valjean might feel the same way; it had simply never occurred to him. But now that this had happened, he could not help wondering. Was it understanding, as well as forgiveness, that he had seen in those eyes? Did Valjean recognize the position that Javert had been in during those nineteen years and realize how much he had wanted anything but to ever hurt him? When Javert had told him not to forget his name, did Valjean catch the careful inflection in the words? He did not want Valjean to live in fear of his name, not at all. He just could not stand the thought of being forgotten by someone who had made such a difference in his life.

But because Valjean did not talk about it any further, he would not either. He tried to think of another subject to talk about.

"How is that little girl?"

He heard a sigh. "Cosette is very well, thank you. She is not so little anymore, though."

"She is married, then?"

This time there was a chuckle. "No, but there is a boy. Marius. He is the reason I am here."

Javert felt something brush against his leg and saw that it was Valjean's.

"She is a lucky to have someone who cares so much."

"Yes, I suppose she is…" Valjean chuckled again. "I must be lucky too, then."

"How is that?"

"You hunted me for years, Javert, would you not have done so if you did not care?"

Javert laughed for the first time in what felt like months, the sound unfamiliar even to him. "No, I suppose you are right."

It was silent for a while. Javert was surprised by how easily they sat together. It did not feel like old friends sitting together, but rather two people that had been waiting a long time for this opportunity. Now their waiting was over and they were testing the waters to see if it had been worth it.

"Do you remember when you arrested the wrong man - the man that you thought was me?"

"…Yes, I do." How could he forget?

"I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had not stepped in."

Javert sighed; this was something he had wanted to get off his chest for a long time.

"I have a confession to make."

"That you are not the inspector you thought you were?" Valjean teased.

Javert just shook his head. "No…I knew that the man was not you."

He heard a quick intake of air and pressed forward. There was hardly any point in secrecy anymore anyway. "I knew who you were from the moment you introduced yourself as Mayor. I could never forget your face. I was going to persecute the wrong man on purpose," He paused, feeling almost surreal now that he was finally admitting to this, "because I knew it would mean that you could be free. I suppose I should have known you to be too decent a person for that," He added, smiling as he turned his head to face Valjean.

His smile quickly dropped once he saw the stunned eyes looking back at him. Had his

confession upset him?

"Javert…You would do such a thing? For me?" He brought a hand before Javert's face as if to touch it, but seemed to remember himself and held back.

As they looked at each other, Javert realized that he might have done anything for Valjean. Taking another man's freedom may have seemed severe, but in the long run Javert would not have regretted it. Valjean would have remained the mayor instead of fleeing again. He could have approached Valjean as though they were strangers (even if Valjean did already know him, he would not have said anything), and perhaps, with time, really gotten to know each other. They could have been, at the least, friends.

"Yes." Javert hoped that he did not sound as exposed as he felt.

He almost expected Valjean's hand to cup the side of his face; what he did not expect were the lips that followed. Valjean rose to his knees to fully face Javert, placing feverish kisses all along his face.

"Oh, Javert," He murmured affectionately between kisses, and Javert felt chills run across his skin. But Javert remained still, unable to process what was happening.

"Valjean, what are you _doing_?"

There were now two hands cradling his head. "What you never did."

Well, there was not much for Javert to say to _that_, was there? But when that same mouth suddenly found his, Javert's first instinct was to pull back, pushing less firmly than he usually would have against the strong chest. Not too far, because one of Valjean's hands had somehow managed to entangle itself in his hair and refused to let go, but far enough so that he could temporarily stop the advances and take a moment to think.

This was difficult to do when the object of one's fixation gazed at them with the warmth of an angel and began stroking their face in a similar manner.

"Val-_jean_." It was meant as a warning, but Javert thought it sounded more like an invitation. He was uncertain of whether it was not.

"I like hearing my name on your tongue," If Valjean meant to be anything other than innocent, he did not show it. It must be nice to be treated as an equal when for so long Javert had pretended to look down upon him.

It dully reminded Javert of his obligation to the law. "I should be arresting you."

"And yet, miraculously, I remain unbound," Valjean laughed. Javert did not see the humor.

"Javert," He continued, serious, "if you must arrest me, then do so for something worth while."

Then he kissed Javert again, and this time the inspector could find nothing more to discuss.


End file.
